


Fate: Empty Throne

by 7th_The_Writer



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Darker Than Black, Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, God of War (Video Games), Persona 5, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But not quite, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Fan Grail War, Fourth Holy Grail War, Spoilers, more to come - Freeform, people gonna die
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-09-06 05:04:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20285875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7th_The_Writer/pseuds/7th_The_Writer
Summary: After three failures of Holy Grail Wars, a certain magician steps in to put things on the right course. The idea was there, but the execution was lacking. Fortunately, he had no shortage of options. If the mages and heroes of this world wouldn't suffice, then he'd turn to worlds that weren't his own.A recreation of the circumstances of the 4th Grail War, but with characters from other works who slot right into place. What will change, and what will stay the same? Constance and variables. A war so alike, and yet so different, from the one we know.Expect some level of spoilers for any series that gets plugged into this thing. More tags will be added as more characters are introduced (by name) into the story.





	1. A View from the Kaleidoscope

There it was. The Holy Grail.

Well, no, it wasn’t. Not exactly anyway. The priceless artifact now sat on the pedestal, the golden cup of seemingly unending possibilities, was not the holy grail. It was a means for the creation of the holy grail. The lesser grail. A hollow shell of the power of its more extravagant true form, that was sure. But nevertheless an object of immense potential. Under the right circumstances.

And now it sat unceremoniously in the middle of Schweinorg’s chamber. Unprotected by any line of defense beyond reputation. Not that it required anything further.

The Wizard Marshall stepped closer to the podium. He raised a hand and tapped at the rim of the grail. “Can you hear me in there?”

The events of the third holy grail war had been unproductive, to put it charitably. And Schweinorg was far from charitable. He had been there when this cup had been forged. By the combined wills of the Tohsaka, Makiri, and the Einzbern, they had forged a false miracle to reach the swirl of the root, to grant them that wish all mages searched for. Not without some of his aid, of course. But that had been, what, two hundred years ago? And now came the word that those Einzberns had gone and tampered with it. Worse than that, they may have completely ruined it. And that just didn’t sit well with Schweinorg.

He had lent his name, his credibility, even the Second Magic itself, to this farce of a ritual. A clash of heroes from across time, doing battle for the chance of their hearts desire. It had that sense of ludicrous romanticism that he just couldn’t deny. If nothing else, he’d hoped it to be a source of entertainment. At best, a source of discovery.

But all that had been trampled on. The Grail was, functionally, broken. There was no reversing the damage that had been done. In one poorly executed swoop, all that work had been twisted and tarnished. Whatever horrid substance now sloshed about in the grail was not the swirl of the root, that was certain. 

And so, like a parent to an unruly child, when the three families couldn’t share their toy as it was designed, it had fallen on Schweinorg to take it away. But for what purpose? He could hardly fix the thing without the Einzberns, and considering what they’d done the grail that wasn’t about to happen. Nor did he particularly feel like dealing with the heads of the other families. So he now sat, alone in his chamber, staring at that golden goblet that man and hero alike had fought and died for.

Yet, though it was now near useless in its original purpose, it still was not just a trophy to be displayed, or a failure to catalogue. He had helped to construct it out of a sense of boredom and curiosity. And to those ends, there was still much that could be done with a semi-functional holy grail. At least, there was much that Schweinorg could do.

He once more tapped the rim of the grail. As though whatever was now living inside the cup was some sleeping animal he was trying to rouse from its rest. “You can hear me, yes? I take it you must have to, if you’re supposed to grant the wishes of those who seek you. Though that’s not your purpose any longer, is it? The Einzbern, what did he call you… ah, yes, I believe it was All The World’s Evil?”

Now there was a reaction. Not a direct response, naturally, but a change in the energy of the room. Something far more malicious seemed to creep into the still air of the room. Schweinorg took this as a good sign. At least it meant he wasn’t sat alone, talking to an inanimate object. Now he knew he had a captive audience.

“It’s a bit of a misnomer, don’t you think? Well, it was, anyway. By my understanding the ‘Avenger’ known as Angra Mainyu- you don’t mind if I call you that, do you? - That heroic spirit was worse even than a familiar. Hardly the living calamity that was expected.”

Schweinorg circled the grail, looking it over. Marveling at the simplicity of the object. “And yet, here we are. You a young boy having the immense displeasure of now being made into that very thing they saw you as. And me, a simple old magician wondering how it all went so wrong.” His hand ran along the circumference of the grail with all the care one might put into petting a cat. “You see, Angra Mainyu, I may not be as displeased with this turn of events as you are, how could anyone be? But that’s not to say my own displeasure isn’t enough to give thoughts of… revenge. In a sense, at least.”

That stagnant heavy air, the gravity of dialogue with ‘All the World’s Evils’, seemed to lift. Not by very much, but it was enough that Schweinorg could notice it’s effects. As expected, that was the word to get results. Revenge. The one and only Avenger. A servant formed with hatred as its very nature. An existence denied an ability at revenge for ever and all time. A faint smile crossed his lips.

“I was there when the grail was built, you know. The third magic, Heaven’s Feel, that was the ticket. I must hand it to those Einzbern’s. A minor miracle in and of itself that they would build this ceremony around the reanimation of the dead. But even you must understand that for there to be a third magic, there must rationally be at least two prior?”

There was no response. He hadn’t expected one, but it wouldn’t have surprised them if it had. In his line of work, the unexpected was often more predictable than the mundane. Either way, he pressed forward. 

“Kaleidoscope. The second magic. Sight into other worlds, interaction with different times. A seemingly impossible work of true magic. There is no one in the world who knows its truths, who can even scratch its surface, besides myself. While I may have issue in performing such feats in my old age, I’m to understand there’s a particular catalyst in this world that has been performing astonishing feats of true magic for nearly 200 years now. One that, to an accent, can create souls that never were, all because of human belief. A certain blasphemous recreation of the cup of Christ.”

Schweinorg pulled out his desk chair, sat himself down, and folded his hands in his lap. “A Holy Grail which has been very recently tainted with an incomprehensible darkness. Now, as an ally of the world, it should be said that All the World’s Evils would be my enemy. But if it was a source of information, of discovery, or aid, it is a force I could overlook. You must see where this is going.”

Still no answer. This was among the least interesting holy artifacts Schweinorg had come across in his centuries of travel. But that didn’t matter if it gave him what he wanted from this.

“By my count, it will be almost fifty years to the day until the fourth grail war. No doubt you have your own ideas of what should pass for a suitable war. But allow an old man a chance to proposition something else entirely. Disregard the three Fuyuki mage families. After what they allowed to transpire, to you and to the war at large, surely that is no difficult task.”

“Secondly, use this time with me. Absorb information, Allow me to expose that primordial mud you call home to experience the many parallel worlds. Acclimate yourself to them. Become a conduit not only of the third magic, but also of the second.”

The mood of the room again lifted. The spirit within the grail seemed to be understanding, or at the least contemplating, Schweinorg’s proposal. A good sign.

“Then, when the time comes, not only need you disregard the Fuyuki mages, but disregard this reality as a whole. Allow us to walk through space time, and gather those far more interesting masters to do battle. And once we have those…”

Schweinorg chuckled lowly. The whole situation seemed so absurd. And yet, here he was. On the edge of setting this mad experiment on the tracks. Still, it was better than destroying the grail and wasting all that effort and magic that had gone into it. He was a thoughtful man.

“Once we’ve gathered those masters, then comes the true test of your so-called omnipotence.”

“Then comes the manifestation of souls that, in this world, never were. A grand grail war waged by masters who will never exist, and servants who have never existed. And when the curtain falls and a victor claimed… well, whatever happens happens, as they say.”

This time, Shweinorg waited for no answer. Dealing with demons and their ilk was hardly something new for the wizard marshall. He had Angra Mainyu in the palm of his hands. The spirit of the Holy Grail would answer to his desire. For his experiment would mean the Avenger could get what it wanted. A mutual benefit, the kind of deal All the World’s Evil would not hesitate to accept. After all, what possible benefit could Shweinorg gain from a simple clash of heroic spirits? Especially in comparison to what Angra Mainyu had in mind…

Taking the grail by its stem, raising it off the podium and heading for the door. There was a lot of ground to cover. But fortunately for the master of the Kaleidoscope, he had all the time in the world...


	2. Heart of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first of the masters are selected, and with it, the war is able to begin.

In the early hours of the morning, Mukuro Ikusaba rubbed her palms against her eyes. She didn’t remember going to sleep the night before. Maybe that was just the jet lag on her way into this country. Or perhaps her sister really put her through her paces the night before. What a lovely woman. As she lowered her hands to pull together her outfit, her eyes widened. There, emblazoned on the back of her hand, was an unsightly crimson tattoo.

Had Junko done that too? The fact it didn’t say ‘slutty pig’ or ‘snub nosed bitch’ or something to that effect had her doubting that. It didn’t really look like anything. A red splotchy swirl. It didn’t line up with any militia insignia she was aware of, legal or otherwise. Her eyes narrowed as she rubbed the tattoo with her finger. Permanent, it seemed. That would make her disguise a little more troublesome.

Mukuro shook her head. There was more pressing matters than their proposed infiltration. Where had these marks come from? Who was so stupid as to stain the skin of the Ultimate Soldier? The ink had already set in. Whoever had done this, they’d gotten the drop on her during her rest. A terrifying prospect. No one should have been able to accomplish that, not to her.

She rolled off the futon and checked her condition. No obvious wounds or scars. Her gear all seemed in order. A quick pat down even confirmed all her weapons were still on her. Her body was moving just fine, suggesting no drugs had been administered. Had someone really risked breaking into Junko’s house just to graffiti her skin? Perhaps this was all one of Junko’s tests? Or worse: a punishment.

The idea that her sister could be angry with her was an incredibly worrying one. But also a thought so profoundly enticing, Mukuro could already feel her face growing flush. Evil still she found herself drawing her knife. This was a situation which demanded her attention no matter which way the cards fell. Her eyes zipped across the room. Checking each corner, checking each shadow, but all seemed clear.

A deep, clear breath. An unknown enemy on familiar turf. Mission protocol was clear. One of two circumstances. If whoever had ambushed her still remained, search and destroy. If they had been wise and escaped, seal up where home defense was lacking. Secondary objective, ensure her sister’s safety. Not that she even needed to worry about that. They may have been insane enough to go after Mukuro, but no one was so suicidal as to try the same thing on Junko.

It was so easy to slip back into that headspace. Like putting on an old glove. Once more, she was a soldier. She could visualize the entire battlefield in her mind. She eliminated all distractions from her senses. All that mattered was the mission. And with a weapon in hand, she was ready.

She quickly moved for the door. The building wasn’t especially large, but it was no hovel either. Plenty of closets. Plenty of furniture. Three stories. This would be an easy hunting ground. She took another breath and barged out into the hall.

Mukuro’s chamber was in the basement. Naturally. A blessing in this circumstance. It was easier to work her way up than down. A quick sweep of the boiler room meant there was nowhere else to go but up. She’d need to make quick time. Getting caught on the stairs put her at a disadvantage. One hand on the wall, one on her knife, and up she went.

There was no time to stop. Mukuro barreled through the door to the foyer, quickly checking the corners of the room. No signs of a break in or a struggle. Another step into the room, and that quickly changed. The sound of something smashing to bits in the dining area. Without even thinking, Mukuro launched her knife through the doorway before running in behind it.

Her eyes swept over the scene before her. There was a lot to take in. Most importantly was her sister, Junko, sat at the table, seemingly unharmed. Also in their kitchen, an older man in dark robes. He had Mukuro’s knife between his fingers. Then, the source of the crash. A teapot, smashed to pieces on the floor. Mukuro’s eyes narrowed, staring down the intruder, before Junko spoke up.

“‘Bout time you woke up, bitch,” she said. Junko kicked her feet up onto the table and crossed her arms. “And what the hell was that ninja throwing star bullshit. We’re in our house, dumbass, not gangland. Keep your knives in your panties.”

Well, she seemed in good spirits at least. And her usual style of greeting always knew how to soften Mukuro’s black heart. The mindset of an unbeatable goddess on the battlefield was buried by softer, more unseemly thoughts.

Mukura wasn’t really sure how to respond at first. She never was with Junko. “Hey, Junko. Good morning to you too. Sorry about the… that whole entrance and scaring your friend. I just,” her eyes flitting between her hand and the floor, “well, I was worried about this tattoo and the smashing glass sound, so-”

“Uh, yeah, I broke that stupid pot to wake your ass up. And what the hell tattoo are you talking about?” Junko followed Mukuro’s eyes. “What? You mean your friggin’ command seals? How are you this old and still this stupid? Don’t know the difference between magic and some back-alley needle job.”

Magic?

Junko shook her head and spoke now to their guest. “I am so sorry about her, Zel. Trust me, she’s, like, one of those idiot savants you see in the movies. A real rain man type. ‘Cept she’s all about, like, guns ‘n’ knives. Real psycho shit.”

The elder man chuckled lowly and shook his head. He turned his attention to Mukuro, extending a hand her way. A hand that still held her knife. “I take it this is yours, young lady?”

“Yeah, that’s mine.” Mukuro bowed her head before taking the blade and sliding it into its sheath. Her brow was furrowed as she looked between the man and Junko. “What was that you were saying before, sis? Command seals? Magic? I’m sorry, I don’t really understand what’s happening.”

Junko rolled her eyes. “Look, little sis, I know you’re kinda slow, but try to keep up. Zel here’s a wizard-”

“A magician, actually,” he piped up. “A technical difference to you two, but it’s one I must say I’m rather proud of. Miss Ikusaba, my name is Zelretch Schweinorg. Though just Zelretch is fine.”

“Zelretch…” Mukuro repeated. It wasn’t any name she’d heard before. But that was far from the most pressing thing on her mind. But she had to start somewhere if she wanted to learn anything. “What brings you out here? Something about these marks on my hand?”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Zelretch took a seat besides Junko and folded his hands on the table. “As I’m sure you’ve gathered, I’m not from here. But as a part of… shall we say, a business venture, I’m looking into contracting exceptional individuals to participate in a ritual, of sorts.”

Mukuro’s brow furrowed. “A ritual? Like a cult?” Her fingers twitched towards her knife. She’d seen stories about these old men and their suicide cults. And there was only one person Mukuro trusted with that kind of influence.

But Junko just shook her head. “Look, don’t get all technical on the poor girl, Zel. He’s asking us to get into a big fight.”

A relieved sigh. The tension in Mukuro’s body seeming to pass as quickly as it had built. “Oh… okay, sure.”

“Told you she’d be into it.”

Mukuro raised her arm and displayed the mark on her hand. “So, this is some kind of… magic mark, saying I’m going to be fighting?”

“Alright, let’s break it down, Zel.” Junko pushed her chair back and stood up.

“A test on your ability to pay attention, Miss Enoshima. How much do you remember of our talk?”

Junko cracked her knuckles and rested her elbow on her sister’s head. “Listen up, this is where shit gets wild. So Zel over here has a talking cup-”

“I am in possession of the holy grail.”

“And it’s gonna give us a slave to fight with. If we kill everyone else’s slave, we win, and we get… well, whatever the hell we want!”

Mukuro had more than a few questions. But rather than voice them outright and risk angering her sister, she turned to look hopefully at Zelretch. He glanced back at her and nodded.

“In the simplest terms, that’s correct. The holy grail is an all powerful magical device. It is capable of creating miracles and disasters, and everything in between. It will act as the trophy for the final combatant in the battle to come, and its power with it. Anything you could ever need or want. And it will also serve as the means by which your partner in this war, your ‘servant’, will be created. And if you have the last servant standing, the prize is yours.”

Junko thumbed the back of Mukuro’s hand. “And these little red beauties are gonna make sure your servant doesn’t tear ya to pieces when you say some stupid shit that makes him hate ya.”

“You really believe him?” Mukuro looked over her shoulder. She wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but she was old enough to know that magic wasn’t real. That the promise of miracles and salvation were all ploys to trick people into hoping. The kind of hope that she and her sister hoped to wipe out entirely. Junko seemed convinced, but Mukuro was proving a bit resistant.

“I mean, tee bee haitch, I wasn’t really feelin’ it when he came knockin’ on the door this morning. I thought he mighta been one of those door-to-door monk guys tryna make me lose my shoes and live in a cave. Or, like, a serial killer. That’s why I threw him to you first.”

“Oh, Junko…” Mukuro’s cheeks brightened at her sisters admittance to using her sleeping body as a human shield. Some things never change.

Junko snapped her fingers in front of Mukuro’s face and pulled her attention back. “Easy tiger, don’t go gushin’ on the chair, I just bought that. Like I was saying, the old man told me what was up, and when I pointed ya out to him, he went ahead and magic’d those command seals on ya. So now we just gotta bust out the blood, draw a bomb ass magic circle, and do the ol’ ritual. You’re welcome.”

“You’re going to do a blood ritual?” Mukuro looked around the house. She hadn’t smelled blood when she woke up. And all her own blood was still safely inside her. 

Zelretch pointed to the nearest window. “Outdoors, Mukuro. Don’t concern yourself with that now. We both know better than to stain that much blood in the house of the Ultimate Analyst.”

Junko grinned widely. “Ooh, now there’s a name I haven’t heard in a hot minute. Zel, you know more than you let on. Colour me intrigued.”

“What can I say, I fancy myself something of a scholar.” There was a mischievous look in Zelretch’s eyes that spoke volumes to the girls. “Even if I’m not familiar with this land, becoming familiar with its people is no troubling task. Not for me. So when the holy grail directed me to this place, I merely looked into who exactly would be joining this war.”

That sounded more sinister than Mukuro was comfortable. She reached against for her blade. Yet when her hand touched on her sheath, she felt nothing but air. Glancing upwards, her knife was now lodged into the opposite end of the table. Zelretch’s smile widened. As did Junko’s.

“Didja like what you saw, old man?” Junko’s giddy bounciness was starting to fade. “You must have some nerve, walking into the house of the two of us like you did.” Her eyes flickered to the knife now jabbed into the table. “Hell of a magician, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been called the best,” replied Zelretch. “And yes, I do have nerve. But what I do not have, young miss, is fear. I’ve made an enemy of much bigger threats than the two of you.”

Mukuro’s eyes were trained on Zelretch, waiting for him to make a move. If Junko trusted he was able to make good on promises... “So if you know who we are, what we want, and how we want to accomplish it, why us? Why give us a chance at?”

Junko folded her hands in front of her face. “He doesn’t think we can win.” 

Zelretch shook his head. “Whether you can win or not isn’t at my discretion. In earnest, this is my first call on the masters of the war. It’s at the Grail’s discretion who joins this war, I can only explain the circumstances.” He pushed his chair back and stood up, brushing some dust from his robe. “Though I must say, as something of a hero of justice, I do wonder how well the two of you will fair in battle.”

“What?” Mukuro’s brow furrowed as she looked between Junko and Zelretch. “Junko’s not going into battle. That’s why I have the seals, right?”

Junko snorted back a laugh. “You thought you were gonna go into this thing all by yourself? Yeah, no, try again.” She raised her hand and clenched her first. There, just barely visible under some impressively put together concealer, was the faint outline of those same red seals. “Master number two up in this bitch.”

“Yes,” Zelretch said with a nod. “As per the direction of the Holy Grail, the both of you will be competing against each other. Two masters, two servants, one survivor.”

Mukuro’s expression turned to a dreamy stupor. Her and Junko, engaged in heated battle. Sending their soldiers to skewer one another. Laying traps and tricks in an attempt to blow the other to bits. The thought of Junko seeing her bloody pieces scattered across the ground. Of the agonizing despair that would put her through…

Once again, Junko snapped her fingers in front of her sister’s face. “Mukuro, focus.” All the playful teasing in her voice had left her now. “We are both going to be fighting in this war, that much is true. But, that doesn’t make us enemies. Not any more than usual.”

“Oh, okay.” Mukuro nodded. Already she could feel herself slipping back into that soldier mentality. They were going into war together. And Junko, of course, had a battle plan. “Then… we’ll be working together, right?”

Junko took Mukuro’s knife out of the table and slid it back to her. “Yes, and no. Going off the explanation Zelretch gave, the only thing that matters is whose servant lives to the end. So, naturally, it makes sense we’d work together. Two servants should be strong enough to take on any one of theirs.”

Junko raised a finger. “However. If any of the other participants in the war catch wind of our relationship, it would make sense they’d team up to take us out. So, yes, we will be working with one another. But we’re going to do it in a way that makes it look like we’re enemies. Understand?”

As Mukuro took hold of her knife, Zelretch chuckled. “Only a few hours into the war, and already trying to break it? I can see why the grail wanted the two of you among its warriors. You must have a lot of trust in your bond. And in your servants.”

“A servant is little more than a weapon to be wielded,” came a calm, deep voice from behind Mukuro.

Her instincts once more took over. Mukuro gripped the knife and swung her whole body around to attack the intruder. But to her surprise and distress, the blade shattered on the man’s skin.

The two of them locked eyes. She took in the man’s appearance. He wasn’t much taller than her, with a stone faced expression despite her sudden attack. He was somehow both very plain looking and an easy standout from anyone else she’d seen. But it wasn’t because of his hair or the multiple black piercings, but in those eyes...

“Oh, right, yeah, forgot to mention that part,” Junko said with evident joy. “While you were sleeping, Zel walked me through the ol’ servant ritual. Gave it a once over and figured since you need the beauty sleep, I’d just do it for ya!”

Mukuro’s eyes widened. She took a step away from the man. “So, you mean he’s my servant?”

He gave a slight nod. “That’s correct, young warrior. The man who brought me here claims I am ‘The spy heroic spirit, Assassin’. I have no issues with that.”

“An Assassin…” Mukuro looked at the command seals on her hand. They were in this together now. She nodded in return. “Okay. Welcome aboard.”

Junko was just glad Assassin hadn’t blown up her sister with a touch. Or the other way around… “He fits with your whole gloomy winter soldier look, dontcha think? I’m hoping my guy’s a lot more, y’know, aesthetic. And chatty. So, Zel, how ‘bout we-” 

But the magician was nowhere to be seen. His seat was empty, save for a pair of envelopes, each addressed to one of the two sisters. Junko and Mukuro were alone with Mukuro’s stoic servant.

Junko ignored the both of them for the time being to grab her envelope. With a flip of the wrist, it fell open. A sheet of paper, and with it: “directions. Looks like we’re not going to be fighting on our home field. Have to give everyone else a chance, I guess.”

Mukuro kicked out Zelretch’s seat. Not a trace of the man in sight. She looked back at Assassin while Junko read the letter. “You want a seat?”

He shook his head. “Don’t concern yourself with me. Focus on the war. And your alliance.”

“Assassin, huh…” Junko muttered as she fished around in her envelope for whatever was sitting at the bottom. “Feel like tellin’ us about yourself? Scratch that, not important. How about telling us what you can do?”

“Secrecy is the strongest weapon of an Assassin. I would rather keep such information limited.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure. God, you two really are perfect for each other.” Junko yanked her hand free from the envelope. “But if this letter’s anything to go by, me ‘n’ my servant are going to kick all kinds of ass.”

She cast her eyes down to the ‘catalyst’ Zelretch and her holy grail had chosen for her. Some kind of shock collar? Some kinky necklace? Whatever it was, just holding it made Junko feel… confident. Powerful. She couldn’t keep herself from grinning. “Pupupupu~.”

Assassin put a hand on Mukuro’s shoulder, peering across the table at Junko. Mukuro only nodded in response. “Yeah, she gets like this sometimes. It passes.”

Junko kicked her feet up on the table and twirled the necklace around her finger. “This is how it starts, Mukuro. However all this goes down, there’s only one way this whole thing’s gonna end.”

“Yes, Junko. It’s everything you ever wanted, just in a small scale, right?” Mukuro already knew what she was going to say. She smiled faintly. Junko always seemed so happy in the middle of things like this. In the middle of plots and scheming. “When we walk out of this with the holy grail, we can change the whole world.”

“We won’t just change it, moron, we’ll fuck it all the way up!”

“If that would make you happy, sis, then that’s all I could ask.”

Junko sighed contentedly and stared up at the ceiling. “Y’know something? Just thinking about what could happen, ‘bout what that old man was talking about, discovering all this magic shit. Servants and the holy grail and everything else…”

She tossed the collar in the air and caught it. “I am so freakin’ ready to get my despair on!”

Assassin stepped away from the scene. “I will keep watch over our base for the time being. When I am needed, call upon me.”

“Okay,” Mukuro replied absent mindedly. Assassin took another step before vanishing into golden dust. Even with him gone, Mukuro could still feel his presence. A connection to something greater than herself.

Junko grabbed her sister’s hand and yanked her to her feet. “C’mon, skank, we’ve got another ritual to throw. You know where we could get, like, a lot of blood?”

Mukuro smiled in response and squeezed Junko’s hand gently. “Yeah, I know a place. Just let me get my knives.”

“Now that’s the psycho sister I remember.” Junko grinned before freeing her hand from Mukuro’s and clapping excitedly. She struck a pose and pointed straight up. “Listen here world! Your time is up! This right here, this is ‘bout to be the biggest, most awful, most violent, bloody war ever fought!”

Mukuro put a hand on her cheek, feeling the warm rush of blood to her own face. “And that’s just the beginning. Junko Enoshima with any wish she wants… what an absolutely exciting prospect.”

“And that was how the world began it’s path to getting totally boned,” Junko narrated. “That was the story of how the despair sisters were pulled into war. A war that was going to change everything.”

She looked over her shoulder and flashed Mukuro a peace sign. “Just try to stay alive till it’s over, kay?”


	3. Voice in Exile

Midnight tapped her pen against her clipboard. Halfway through. Next on the list would be… “Hitoshi Shinsou!”

Shinsou raised his head out of his hand and looked about the hallway. “Yeah, what is it?”

“Up and at ‘em, tiger, you’re next on the list.” Midnight stood in the doorway, holding it open for the last student to pass under her arm as she looked at Shinsou. She waved her clipboard towards him. “Come on, young man, I don’t have all day. The sooner we’re done here the sooner we can both go home.”

He rubbed his eyes as he stood up and walked towards the practice grounds. “No, I’ll be fine. Not my first time on the mound, ma’am.”

Midnight took a deep breath through her nose as he passed by her. “There’s no need to call me ma’am, Shinsou. Just Midnight is fine.” She batted her eyes in his direction. “Or if you’d like, you can always call me by my civilian name, I won’t tell.” she ended on a wink. The Midnight special, a super move without her quirk. No one could resist.

“Not sure that would be appropriate, ma’am.” Shinsou walked up the stairs up to the proving grounds. A nice wide open arena usually saved for showcases and the sports festival. But as of recent, they’d taken on a lot more mundane uses. Less pomp and circumstance than Hitoshi was used to from U.A. Not like that was a bad thing.

With a huff, Midnight tossed her clipboard aside and took her place at the other end of the arena.It wasn’t her favourite part of the job, but something about how Shinsou talked to her just got her in the mood. And not what she usually meant by that.

Quirk apprehension testing. It was just another part of training with U.A. For a lot of people, it was a formality. Who didn’t know how to use their quirk, right? But for people like Shinsou, or anyone else with a non-combat type quirk, they really were a proving ground. Possibly the only chance he’d have to get one-on-one tests of skill against real heroes. And to show what a hero with a quirk like his could be.

Midnight raised her hand to the sky. “Commencing testing! Professional hero Midnight against hero prospect Hitoshi Shinsou.”

Shinsou looked around at the empty stands and scratched his neck. “Right, yeah. Ma’am, what are the parameters for success?”

“There are three merits for success, Mister Shinsou.” Midnight put a hand on her hip and leaned forward as she counted them out on her fingers. “Ring out. Immobilization. Or surrender.”

Shinsou smirked. “Got it. And got you.”

Midnight’s whole body tensed up. She stood straight, hands at her sides. Shinsou was a clever boy. The secret of his quirk wasn’t widely known. A precaution to keep from damaging his future hero prospects. But Midnight had known. All it took was a word, a response, and he could jack into her brain and command her as he saw fit. He’d spotted his opening and taken it. Clever kid.

“I’m sure you know where this ends, but it’s got to be official. Turn around and walk out of the ring.” Shinsou stuffed into his hands and watched Midnight turn on her heels. Wait, her heels…? “Wait, stop!”

But Shinsou was too late. It only took a couple steps. In her brainwashed state, Midnight would comply with any simple task Shinsou ordered of her. But walking in heels like she was wearing was no basic task. It took a lot more concentration and control than she was capable of. And so she came smacking face first into the ground.

Shinsou rushed to the side of his fallen teacher. “Hey. Hey!” He stooped down at her side. “You can hear me in there, right? Your face okay?” When he received only a non-commital grunt in response, he raised her hand. “Should I go get Recovery Girl? Ma’am?”

Midnight shook her head. She groaned as if even that was painful. “I’m not going to get beaten by falling on my face, Shinsou. I don’t need recovery girl, I’m fi-”

Shinsou let out a relieved sigh. Firstly that he hadn’t brained his instructor on the pavement. And secondly that she’d fallen for the concerned student bit. He sat down and wiped his forehead. “I figured you could take a bump like that. But you won’t need to take it again. Make this easy on both of us, and just surrender.”

He lied out on his back as Midnight pushed herself back up to her feet. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t actually been worried. But Midnight was a tough old bat, she could take a beating. Judging by that outfit...

Shinsou was pulled out of his thoughts by a smell. A strong, sickeningly sweet scent. He put two and two together in his head. A pheromone. That little down time between her fall and his ploy, she’d let her power get to him. He tried to say another command for Midnight, but his jaw refused to open. All his muscles were just so relaxed. Even his eyes were relaxed. It was hard to even keep his eyelids open…

* * *

Shinsou’s eyes flew open and he sat bolt upright. He was back in the hallway. Aizawa was slouched over across the hall, his tired eyes staring down at him. Shinsou clenched his fists.

“Don’t beat yourself up too bad. Officially, you’re listed as reaching a stalemate.” Aizawa sat up and crossed his arms. “What happened out there?”

“Bad luck. She tripped, knocked herself out of my brainwashing. Before I could get her back under, she let out some of that… stuff.” Shinsou sat up and sighed. “She didn’t do anything to me, did she?”

“Relax, kid, you’re not a villain. Midnight’s not gonna do anything but brag. But that wasn’t bad luck. You made a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake.”

“So you meant for her to fall on her face and slip out of your control?” Aizawa sighed and stood up. “Where’s your capture gear?”

Shinsou looked off to the side. “What’s it matter? Not like it’s going to do anything to a pro.”

“You think Midnight’s tougher to catch than the villains I’ve caught with it?” Aizawa pulled at the device around his neck. “This thing takes years to get good with, Shinsou, you can’t just skip out on training because you think you won’t need it.”

“I know. I get that. That’s why you’re teaching me how to use the thing. But I wanted to do it with my powers, and nothing else. To prove I could make it as a hero on my own.”

“Heroes aren’t alone, Shinsou.” Aizawa looked down the hall at the line of doors. “Me, Midnight, Recovery Girl, even All Might. We got this far by knowing what we could handle, and when we needed to rely on each other. Your power’s good, Shinsou, but if you just use it as a gimmick like that-”

“My quirk isn’t a gimmick.” Shinsou stood up. “And I know you’ve been keeping me ‘turned off’ this whole time.”

“Yeah, because I could tell you’d take it personal. And you wouldn’t know I was blocking you unless you tried to brainwash me, right?”

Aizawa and Shinsou stared one another down for a moment before Shinsou spoke again. “So did I get into the intern program or not?”

“No,” Aizawa replied straight away. “Everyone was impressed with the nature of your quirk, sure, but your physical results and actual apprehension qualifications were lacking. On top of that, we’re still not even sure what kind of Hero you’d even intern with, besides me.”

“Sounds like we’ve got nothing else to talk about.” Shinsou turned and marched on down the hall.

Aizawa sighed and shook his head. He didn’t need to go after him. Shinsou needed to blow off steam, work things out for himself. Aizawa could find him later, when it was time to train. For now he just stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked the other way. He needed a break himself.

Shinsou turned the corner in a huff. He gripped at his hair. “Dammit, dammit, dammit! That old bag made a fool of me!” He was muttering to no one. Just venting to the wind. But how could he not be angry? A pass on his quirk apprehension test, one from Midnight no less, would have shot his chances of internship way up. But, instead, he remained no further than when he’d started.

“They don’t understand. None of them understand. Having a quirk like mine, an evil, messed up quirk. No, no they know. Those two especially, they know what it’s like. And they’re jealous, definitely. Anything they can do, I can do, plus more. Yeah, once I get through them, it’ll be straight up to the top.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Shinsou nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to see who’d caught him ranting. And so it was that he was face to face with Itsuko Kendo. She was carrying a stack of boxes and parcels. Shinsou put on a calm face. That same blank stare he got plenty of practice on every day of the year. “Oh, hey Kendo. Didn’t know you guys in the first class were doing testing today too.”

Kendo shook her head. “We’re not, I’m actually doing a delivery run right now. Are you okay? You were kinda mumbling some stuff… you want to talk about it?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing.” Shinsou scratched the back of his neck as he looked over Kendo’s heavy load. “You gonna need a hand with all that? … That wasn’t a pun, by the way.”

“I can handle this stuff just fine, don’t worry about me.” Kendo smiled before grabbing the top book from her stack. “Well, actually, you’re still training with Eraserhead, right?”

Shinsou paused. “... Yeah, yeah Aizawa’s still mentoring me. It’s tough sometimes, but it’s worth the hassle. Mostly.” He smiled faintly.

“Oh, I’m sure.” Kendo returned the smile before holding out the package to Shinsou. “If you don’t mind, could you give this to him the next time you see him? I’ve got a lot of these things to drop off, and I’d really appreciate it.”

“What kind of hero would I be if I didn’t help a lady in need?” Shinsou took the package. It was heavier than it looked. Some kind of paper wrapped box. “... where’s this thing from, huh?”

Kendo shrugged. “No one really knows. Apparently some old man dropped it off, said it was for the hero with tired eyes. After the support squad made sure it wasn’t, like, a bomb, they just added it to the stack. “ Kendo grinned. “Hey, ‘Hero with Tired Eyes’. Maybe that box is for you, Shinsou.”

“Ha ha, so funny.” He tucked the package under his arm and rubbed his eyes. “But I’m not a hero. Not yet anyway. It’s a long way to the top.”

“But you’ll get there. With a quirk like that, you’ll be a great hero, I know it. Just not as good as me.”

Shinsou smiled. “Right, sure, better get back to work, delivery girl. Put those big hands to use.”

“Was that brainwashing just now? I feel so compelled.” Kendo laughed softly before heading on down the hall. “I’ll see you around, Shinsou. I hope everything works out for you.”

“Back at you,” Shinsou replied before she vanished around the corner. He sighed and looked down at the package in hand. Aizawa was a hero, sure. Of course he was, he was Shinsou’s mentor. He was behind him every step up the ladder, into the hero course and above. But he probably had a lot of enemies, right? It wouldn’t be right to just hand this over without checking it himself. A hero needs to be brave, but he can’t be reckless. Aizawa had taught him that.

And, on top of that, there was the descriptor. A hero with tired eyes. “Yeah, I’m thinking that’s me.”

Shinsou cut back through the halls to the school’s library. This late in the day, there wasn’t much activity going on in here. The librarians and their aids, but beyond that, just a quiet place. Some alone time to check out the mail. His mail.

There was no time to think. If he was going to do it, he was going to do it now. Shinsou set the package down on the table in front of him, dug his finger into one of the corner flaps, and tore the paper wrapping clean off. Now he was sat, staring at a heavy, ornate wooden box. And atop the box sat a letter, in exceedingly elegant handwriting.

Without hesitation, he picked up the letter and began reading.

_To whom it may concern,_

“Well, that’s a good start.” The fact that there wasn’t a name on the letter gave Shinsou another layer of deniability if this ever came up with his mentor. Not that he would care. After today, Shinsou was just angry. He hoped that reading Aizawa’s mail- no, it was his mail now. He hoped there would be something to lift his spirits. And that was why he kept going.

_We’ve never met. In fact, it’s quite likely we never will meet. But at the behest of my guiding light, I find myself compelled to write this letter. And to hope it finds its way to you in good time. To extend unto you an invitation._

Shinsou raised an eyebrow. An invitation meant for a hero. This could be his chance.

_This world, and especially this U.A., fascinate me. A place where heroism is commonplace, isn’t that idea alone beyond a wild dream? Yet here you are. But this invitation, and the coming events, shall be anything but common. Even by the standards of the world you live in._

_Simply put, the coming days shall see the gathering of individuals of great interest. Some, like yourself, are heroes. And others, they shall play the part of the villain. And, of course, all the shades that fall between. To what shall here to be known as the greatest competition that has ever been held. A clashing of wits and wills that goes beyond anything you can dream of._

_Naturally, the promise of such a gathering, of the chance to save so many, should be more than enough incentive for you to join us. To be known across the world as a true hero. But, should you need further enticing, I’m willing to provide a further prize. Should you become the victor of this competition, you will be granted a single wish._

Shinsou snorted back a laugh. “What is this crap?” It was a trap, that much was obvious. You didn’t need to be a pro-hero to see that. But why would they make it so obvious? A paper package with a handwritten note promising fame and fortune, delivered as vaguely as possible. It was basic level villainy. Who thought they’d nab Aizawa with this garbage?

_I assure you, these are no tall tales or flights of fancy. But, at my word, I do not ask that you travel anywhere or that you do anything. Your participation is far from mandatory, only recommended. As I’ve found myself busy with this recruitment process, I cannot be there to formally instruct you on how to make your compliance known._

_Instead I have included within a wooden box. Do be careful, it’s likely older than you are. Within is a series of books educating you on the basic rules and explanations of the competitions’ guidelines and history. Just as well, I’ve taken the liberty of finding a suitable ‘artifact’ for the battle. Should you choose not to join, think of it as an exotic, if gaudy, consolation prize._

Oh right, the box. Shinsou glanced up from the note to eye it up. It looked pretty plain considering all the importance it supposedly held. With a shrug, he lifted the lid. Nowhere in the world was as safe as U.A., and the support squad already made sure it wasn’t anything dangerous.

Books. A stack of old tomes with bizarre inscriptions on their covers. He took the top book from the pile and flipped through it. Plenty of diagrams by the looks of it. But he came to stop on a page marked with a silver tassel. ‘Fuyuki Ritual: Holy Grail War’ read the chapter header. Now there was a combination of words that managed to say nothing Shinsou understood, yet drew his curiosity.

He set the book aside for the time being. There was more in this box, if the letter was to be believed. Beneath them was another small handle that popped a false bottom out of the box. As Shinsou peered in, he was looking down on a pair of sunglasses. Or, well, something like. Red glass in the shape of an oblong star.

Shinsou lifted the glasses out of the box and held them to his face. “This thing’s ridiculous,” he chuckled lowly before setting it back down and returning to the letter.

_I do hope you’ll make the choice to step into the ring with your fellow masters. I believe I’ve given you every possible reason to join us. But if I cannot convince you, then what I rest knowing I’ve done the most I can. The information is laid before you, it is only your willingness and motivation that is in question. Knock that time is ticking, and I await your response with great anticipation. Hoping to hear from you soon, oh mysterious Eraserhead._

_Signed,_  
_ Kischur Zelretch Schweinorg, Wizard Marshall_

Shinsou sighed and set the note down. Of course, a crazy note had to end with a crazy signature. And of course it wasn’t meant for him. At least Wizard Marshall wasn’t the name of any villain he knew of. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing was up to interpretation. But it left him in something of a predicament.

On the one hand, nothing bad had happened from reading the letter or the books. He hadn’t learned much, yet, but there was a pretty sizable amount of information at his fingertips with these books. This Holy Grail War, it had books, it had research, something to guide him.

But on the other hand, everything about this situation was absurd. And had only gotten more absurd with every paragraph. This whole thing, even at face value, was an invitation to go to war. With nothing but old books and a huge pair of sunglasses. All for the vague promise of a wish.

And even beyond that, the end of the note made it clear that this wasn’t even his invitation to accept. As expected, it was meant for Aizawa. Of course it was. Shinsou wasn’t some hero people came calling on for things like this. This Schweinorg guy wanted a pro, not a kid with a ‘gimmick’ quirk.

Shinsou clenched his hands as he remembered Aizawa’s words. What did he know? A quirk like his, he could have been anything he wanted. But someone like Shinsou, someone with a ‘villain’ quirk, he had to put in the effort. He had to work harder than anyone. He had to go that extra mile just to reach the same level as those blessed with more marketable powers.

But then he remembered Kendo. What she’d told him back in the hall. What the crowd had told him after his match with Midoriya. There were people who believed in him. In his future. In his quirk.

Shinsou grinned. He put his head down and reached for that first book yet again. He’d show them all. This holy grail war or whatever it really was, he could handle it. They wanted Aizawa? He’d give them something even better. He’d come back to school with that wish, and then…

And then no one would look down on him ever again.


	4. The Blind Snake

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

A cemetery’s importance changed from person to person. It could be a hallowed ground of remembrance. It could be a saddening reminder of more painful times. And for others, it could be a terrifying reminder of inevitability. But some, instead, found it to be a source of motivation, a drive to get out there and do something before their time came.

And for Goro Akechi, it was none of those things. The graveyard held no more significance than any other plot of land. Yet, here he was. Knelt down before an unassuming stone monument, now ordained with both a single lily and a pair of burning incense sticks. He smiled faintly as he brushed the dirt from the stone before him.

“Two years, right? Or something like it. It feels even longer. I’m sure you know, but I’ve been very busy.”

To someone like him, a graveyard was nothing but an unfortunate go-between for where he really wanted to be. A lonely, untended grave in the shadow of a hill. The name had long been wiped away, but Akechi could never forget the one who lied beneath.

“Everything is going along very nicely. Better then planned, in fact. I can’t say I was expecting these ‘Phantom Thieves’, but they make an excellent scapegoat.”

There was no need to fear being overheard. Not a soul would come to this gloomy place on a day like this. The people of Tokyo would rather spend their rainy days indoors, studying or eating. Spending time with their family. Distracting themselves from the cruel, ugly world they found themselves in. But Akechi wouldn’t be blinded so easily.

“Father-... It still feels wrong in my mouth, I’m sorry. Minister Shido is doing quite well for himself. His campaign is progressing at an unequivocal level. Another few months, and he’ll be on top, like he always wanted.”

For Akechi, the lives of others weren’t even something to consider. Perhaps that came from his father. Or maybe he always would have ended up this way. What did the people of this country care about him? The real him, beneath the facade, the pomp and circumstance. Where were they when he wandered, alone and afraid? No, they deserved all that hardship, all his suffering, all his pain a thousand times over.

“And once he gets through, once this country is left in the hands of Prime Minister Shido.” Akechi couldn’t help himself from smiling. “Then that bastards house of cards will come crashing down. And so will he.”

Akechi had begun to laugh, but then grew quiet. He turned back to look at the stone obelisk before him.

“I know it’s late. If I could have done something when you were still alive… if I was strong enough back then, we’d be having this talk face to face. I wanted to visit you more often, but I wanted something to show for it. When you and he got together, all you wanted was happiness. All this punishment, all this pain, it goes back to one man.”

“But it’s it’s different now.” Akechi clenched his fists tightly. “Now, there’s someone who can stand up to him. Someone strong enough to take him down. With the powers given to me, I can make our revenge real! I can-...”

He released his grip, and exhaled slowly. He shut his eyes. “... But what comes after, I wonder?” Akechi chuckled softly. “I’ve spent so long thinking about delivering our justice to the world, I never even considered what would happen next. It makes me wish you were still here with me. You always knew just what to say.”

Akechi fished an umbrella out of his shoulder bag. With a click of the switch it sprung to life. Not just to shield himself from the rain, but the gravesite he had come all this way for. He didn’t want to cut this short just on the weather. He could stay a while longer.

“After I’m done here, I think I’ll be leaving Tokyo. Maybe even leaving Japan. There’s nothing here for me. Nothing but bad memories. And you, of course.” Akechi shook his head. “It never really gets easier, being alone. I have a lot of fans now, this mental shutdown ‘case’ has done a lot for my popularity. But they don’t really know me. Not like you do… did.”

He sighed, his shoulders drooped, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry, I thought I could get through this a little better than I am. I have so much to say, but it all comes back to hate. I hate everything about this. This situation, these people, this city, this world.”

Akechi reached a hand out and placed it on the gravestone. “But for you, mother, I’ll suffer through it a little longer. I’ll make life a little brighter, like you always wanted. Even if I have to tear this world apart to do it.”

It really did feel like a huge weight had been lifted off Akechi’s shoulders. The life he’d had thrust upon him wasn’t one he’d wish on anyone. Well and truly alone. Acting on the orders of the person he most despised. But it made things a little more tolerable to let it all out, to vent to the empty air and to the memory that was his mother. And to know that his grief would soon be put, that justice would prevail, that he could finally make his mother proud, was all he needed to push him forward.

The rain had started to pick up. With a faint smile, he nodded toward the grave, and looked to the sky. “Watch over me. We’re almost done.”

As Akechi stood up, he felt a sense of someone watching. He turned, and his eyes met the eyes of another. An elder man in dark robes, collecting himself beneath a nearby tree. No sooner had Akechi seen him than he waved a greeting. Akechi waved in return, but already his other hand was going for his phone. If that man had heard even a sentence of what he’d said…

“Akechi, isn’t it?” Asked the man, suddenly quite a bit closer. “Goro Akechi?”

Akechi bolted upright at the man’s words. “Hmm, oh yes, that would be I. The second coming of the detective prince, or so they say.” He forced a laugh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were a fan. I’m not used to being caught unprepared like this.”

“We’re in the same boat in that regard. I prefer to know everything going on. Oh, yes, of course, manners. Speaking of knowing everything.” The old man extended a hand. “Zelretch Schweinorg. A pleasure.”

“The pleasure’s mine, of course. Always love to meet a fan.” Akechi took his hand away from his phone to shake Schweinorg’s hand. “But I really must be going now. I have to get to the station, I’m sure they’re waiting on me. The cases just keep piling up, I’m sure you understand.”

Shweinorg nodded, but he made no move to get out of Akechi’s way. “Of course, I understand completely. As a matter of fact, that’s one reason I came to speak with you.”

“You came to me, is that right?” Akechi’s maintained his calm persona, even as his mind raced through the possibilities of who this guy was. Had he been followed? This man didn’t seem like just a normal fan. But he wasn’t paparazzi either. “Well, I’m afraid meetings of this kind, in a cemetery no less, aren’t exactly the safest. Perhaps we could speak some other time? Some other place? If you have a case to report, I’d recommend you bring it to the police, not to me.”

Akechi only needed a moment with his phone, and this man would be a problem no longer. It was the only way. There could be no loose ends. Not when he’d come so far.

Schweinorg ignored Akechi’s request. He nodded towards the gravesite. “Someone you knew?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Akechi replied coldly before turning away from the man. “My personal business is of no concern to you.”

“Ah, but is Masayoshi Shido a concern of yours?” Schweinorg walked besides Akechi. “I’ve got some very important information that I think you should be privy to. That is, if you’ll take the time to hear me out.”

Akechi sighed and turned around. He brushed a stray hair out of his face. “Alright then, Mr. Schweinorg. If it’s really so pressing, I can take the time to alleviate your concerns. What information do you have on minister Shido?”

“Got your attention then, have I?” Schweinorg produced his own umbrella. “I’ll keep this short, I know you have your own obligations, detective. Two pieces of information. Firstly, Masayoshi Shido has a child. An illegitimate offspring, born of a woman no longer with us. I’m not sure even he knows it.”

Akechi’s brow furrowed. “He has a child?” Keep calm, he told himself. There was no way this stranger knew the whole truth. But then, why had he come to Akechi himself?

Before he could press him further, Schweinorg continued. “Ah, but that’s not the most pressing matter here. I’m sure the child is doing fine. No, no, the matter of urgency here is that Mr. Shido plans to go to war.”

There was really no reason to believe Schweinorg’s words. What he was saying was nonsense. No one knew the workings of Shido’s operations better than Akechi did. War was not on the table. And yet he sounded so sure of his words. And if he knew about Shido’s ‘mystery child’, maybe there really was some insight in what he was saying.

Naturally, Akechi couldn’t show any of that doubt. Instead he just gave a practiced, polite smile. “I assure you, Mr. Schweinorg, that’s simply not possible. Unless you mean a war on crime, but I’d like to think I’ve already beaten him to that battlefield.”

“I don’t mean a war on crime, detective. Then again, I also don’t mean that he’s going to plunge this nation into battle against another. No, I mean exactly as I say. He plans to put himself into war. A battle among individuals of overwhelming might and otherworldly ability. All in hopes of holding the holy grail.”

Akechi couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. Something about those words rang truer than all the others. “The holy grail?”

“Yes, my boy. That curious artifact said to contain the root of all evil and the hope of all mankind.”

“And how, may I ask, did you come to this… well, this frankly absurd information? How much about this so called war can you tell me?”

Schweinorg grinned. “I can tell you near everything about the coming war. Naturally, I’m the one who conscripted him.”

* * *

Akechi passed through the doors into Shido’s office. Shido, stood staring out his window at the city skyline, turned towards him with a look of disdain. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that you are not to darken my doorway at any time. What if someone saw?”

“Come now, Shido, is it really so strange for the cities hero detective and the future prime minister to hold a meeting?” Akechi replied coolly as the door swung shut behind him. “If anything, it will only create more positive publicity with you among the highschoolers of this country. From what they tell me, they make up the majority of my fanbase.”

“I don’t need to be popular with those brats. They’re part of the problem.” Shido pinched the bridge of his nose before taking a seat at his desk. “I’m sure you have some reason to defy me and barge into my office. Something that couldn’t be remedied by a mere phone call, I hope. For your own sake.”

“I wouldn’t come to you otherwise.” Akechi stepped closer to Shido’s desk. “And it’s not that this information couldn’t be shared by phone call. But if what I’m about to say were to be overheard by even one wandering ear, well, we’d be in for some rough times.”

Shido removed his glasses and set them on his desk. “Well, you’re certainly building this up. I’m ready to be disappointed. This has something to do with the phantom thieves?”

“Not with the phantom thieves, sir.” Akechi put his hands on Shido’s desk. “It’s about you. Your very life is in danger.”

There was a pause. “Well, I can’t say I’m disappointed.” Shido folded his hands on the desk. “Explain yourself.”

“There’s war coming to Tokyo, Shido. And a deranged man calling himself Schweinorg is attempting to pull you into it. And he’s got a lot of dangerous people coming with him.”

Shido let out a long, disgruntled sigh. “I’m well aware of all of this, idiot child. You think something like that can happen in this city, in my city, without me knowing? I was the first one he approached about this grand event. And I intend to win this war, just as I’ve won everything else to get this far.”

“Or you could die,” Akechi replied.

“Is that a threat, Akechi?” Shido cast a harsh glare at him.

Akechi shook his head. “As if I would be so bold, and so naive, to attempt something like that. No, Minister Shido, it’s no threat. It’s a reminder. War is hell, they say. And these people need you. This country needs you. For you to be killed so close to the election would be… quite frankly, it would be damning us all.”

“Of course I realize that.” Shido turned his chair around to once more look over the city. “But I’ve come this far by taking the opportunities the gods laid out for me. There can be no clearer route for me than this. That Holy Grail Schweinorg put up as the prize, it’s as good as mine already.”

Akechi shook his head. “Come now, Minister Shido. What could someone like you do with ‘the root of possibility’? What could you wish for beyond what you’re already capable of? You, the most powerful man in all of Japan.”

“What is Japan in the face of an entire world I could lead? A world I could rectify and save?”

“And what is any of your ambitions if this whole thing is a trap? A ploy to lure you out and see you killed?”

Shido’s eyes narrowed once more. “You think I hadn’t considered it was all a lie? Do you believe me a fool? I had Schweinorg demonstrate the power he spoke of, and it was genuine. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You think a man who looks like that, who speaks like that, who would offer up a wish on a silver platter, has nothing else up their sleeve? In a world of cognitive psiences and phantom thieves who steal hearts, how can you trust someone like that?”

“And what else should I do?” Shido glared more intensely at Akechi. “Allow that promised wish to fall into the hands of someone else? Of my enemies?”

Akechi returned the glare for a moment, before smirking and running a hand through his hair. “Of course not, Minister Shido. In fact, I would recommend the exact opposite. I put forth the idea that I should go to war in your stead.”

Shido turned back and stared in silence at Akechi. His expression was perfectly blank. His breathing level, his eyes cold. And then, after a moment, he spoke. “You cannot be serious.”

“You should know perfectly well that I’m always serious.” Akechi walked past the desk to the window. He put a gloved hand against the glass as he looked down on the cityscape. “I don’t mean to sound like a defeatist, but compare yourself to me. A powerful prime minister to be whose woven the most intricate and unbreakable web of control imagnable. Or a young celebrity detective lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Which of us is more valuable, hmm?”

“Of course I understand that much.” Shido rubbed his temple. “The issue comes in that you want me to put my faith and resources behind someone like you to win a prize I know full well I am capable of claiming myself.”

Akechi shook his head. “I don’t need your resources, sir. Just as you are confident in your abilities, so am I confident in mine. Have you forgotten the reason for all those mysterious deaths and suicides these last few years? Or perhaps you’ve figured out how I can do it.”

“I fail to see the connection between a boy with more power than he deserves, and a right to put you at the forefront of a once in a lifetime offer of supreme power.”

“Oh, so that’s the problem.” Akechi laughed softly. “Pardon my tone, but perhaps you haven’t dug up as much information on this war as you should have. This is, in fact, the fourth holy grail war. It doesn’t take a detective to know that means there has been three prior. And likely to be more to come. Should I fail to win you that prize, well, you can merely try again on the next one.”

Shido was quickly losing ground. Akechi had an answer for everything. It was aggravating, to say the least. But it didn’t alleive Shido’s primary concern. “And even if everything you say is true, and you were to win, how am I to trust someone like you to willingly hand over ultimate power? Why should I put any more faith in you, a mere child? You are my weapon, not my handler, do you understand that?”

Akechi answered with a sad sigh. “Oh, I am well aware of that fact, Minister Shido. And it’s because of that that I should be the one to wage war in your stead. Is it not the place of a weapon to fight and to kill whoever you point it at? And, just as I’ve served you loyally thus far, I’ll do it again here. I will walk right back through those doors, with the grail in hand, and set it down before you.”

As he spoke, Akechi circled back around the desk to lock eyes with Shido. “I’ve already been met with the promise of a wish. When you achieved your goal, I would be granted anything I wanted. That was the arrangement we made when I first came to you. And it hasn’t changed since.” He offered a small smile. “And besides, I’m not sure ultimate power really fits my style. I prefer the quiet life I have now.”

Shido rubbed his forehead. “This whole talk is giving me a migraine. You’re quite persistent to walk into your death.” He pulled open a drawer and began digging beneath a stack of folders and official papers. “I will be watching you every step of the way. One slip up, and I won’t hesitate to eliminate you. This is far too important to leave to chance.”

“I understand and accept all the responsibilities that come with this task.” Akechi folded his arm and bowed towards Shido. “I will prove your fears unfounded, and deliver to you the truth. The truth that, for good or for ill, I always come through.”

“Save your empty words.” Shido pulled back from the drawer. He set two simple silver daggers on the desk before him. “The so-called sorcerer presented these as the tools of summoning. Said someone like me would be a fine partner for the one they’re associated with. I don’t know what that means for you, but that’s all you will be given.”

“And it’s all I’ll need.” Akechi picked up the blades and slid them effortlessly into his sleeves. He raised his hands over head and gave a warm smile. “The next time we speak, it will be so that I can hand deliver the world to you, sir.”

Shido crossed his arms. “Don’t make me regret this more than I already do. Now get out of my sight.”

“Of course, Shido, sir. Have a lovely evening.” He gave another bow before turning on his heels and making his leave, leaving Shido alone with his thoughts.

Only a moment after closing the door, Akechi grinned. Things couldn’t possibly have gone any better. Shido wanted the grail? Schweinorg wanted a war? He’d give them both exactly what they wanted. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and headed for the door. All that was left was to actually perform the summoning...


	5. From the Shadows

Schweinorg had been sat at the same booth at the back of a quaint little diner for the better part of a half hour. He took another in a long line of sips of water, his attention on the restaurant entrance. A few passerbys had come and gone, but no one who seemed to be who he was looking for.

Going to ground had always been the plan for this particular excursion. To get his hands on this prospect, a personal touch was needed. Which meant he’d be working through a few extra steps to make sure everything was what it needed to be. But that was what his ‘partner’ decided on, he couldn’t do much to dissuade them. Not that he much minded. Getting in the middle of all this was a great chance to stretch his legs.

But he’d expected this meeting to come a lot quicker than it did. He’d wandered around the city for two days. Travelling about Tokyo, talking with certain individuals, trying to get a lead. Schweinorg was well aware that the man he was after wasn’t going to respond well to being spoken with directly. If he even responded at all.

No, this one required a more personal approach. More finesse, more care. Which is what lead him here… partially.

In actuality, what brought him here, specifically, was a phone call. A call to a payphone he’d just so happened to be near when it rang. It was a brief conversation. A one sided demand of a meeting. If Schweinorg wanted to get to his query, this was the only way it would happen. Naturally, he’d agreed.

And now, a few hours later, he was awaiting his mysterious contact. A seat in the far back of the restaurant. A good look at the front entrance, but far enough from the windows to be safe from the outside. He could see the bathroom doors and the kitchen doors from his spot as well. No one could sneak up on him. Confident in his position, he took another sip of his coffee and once more scanned the room.

“You’re not gonna find him looking out there.”

Schweinorg raised an eyebrow. That voice… yes, it was certainly the same gruff man who’d called the payphone to get him here. So that’s how it was going to be. That man who sat in the table behind him, how long had he been there? No one had taken that seat after Schweinorg had arrived. He chuckled softly and shook his head. Maybe he was losing his touch.

“Well, you’re certainly better at this than I’d expected.”

“It’s my job, guy.”

“Guy, hmm? And what do I call you?”

“Doesn’t matter. This won’t take long. How about Gus, huh? That tickle ya?”

“Well then, Gus, let’s get to business” Schweinorg nodded. He shifted slightly in his seat, eliciting a low, displeased groan from ‘Gus’. “Don’t worry, I’m not turning around. This isn’t my first meeting of this sort. Is there a reason you called me out here? I’m not in the middle of a trap, am I?”

“And if you were? What would you do about it.”

“Well, I suppose I’d be killed here, wouldn’t I?” Schweinorg took another drink. “But I take it you just called me here for the coffee.”

“Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You wanna quit wasting my time and tell me what you want?”

“It’s not what I want,” Schweinorg corrected firmly, “I thought I was quite clear it was a who.”

“The who you’re bothering my team about isn’t a who at all. Not a person. If you don’t even know that much, you’re in way over your head.”

“Yes, well, I suppose someone like myself wouldn’t normally be dealing with your, what was it, Syndicate? Perhaps I am a bit out of my depth.”

Gus covered his sputtering disbelief with a cough. “How did you-”

“I know much more about this world than you can imagine, ‘Gus’. do not speak down to me out of a belief to the contrary. I’m here to do business.”

Gus quickly recomposed himself with a gruff clearing of the throat. “Alright, sure. And just who are you with?”

“I’m English.”

“Real funny. Keep your secrets then, I don’t want to deal with some MI6 spooks gunning for us. Sure, you wanna talk to the guy, I get it. But if you know so much about us, then you know that’s not happening. Now what’s the job.”

Schweinorg chuckled lowly. “It’s contract work.”

“Very funny.” The sounds behind Schweinorg, that of rustling paper, seemed to mean ‘Gus’ was in the middle of a newspaper. Two layers of cover. He wasn’t the only one with experience in these meetings. “How many targets?”

“Six to twelve, possibly more. Depends on how your man wants to deal with them.”

There was another grumble in response. “Who the hell did you piss off?”

“Nobody. Think of this more as a paid skill check. Your man’s a weapon, right? Like all of his kind? So I’m letting him loose into a war zone. I want to see what happens when I point him at someone stronger.”

“Not much of an experiment there. The only reason he’s still walking and talking is because there is no one stronger. If you just get off on the killing, we can do that, but at least give us some reason to let the dog off his leash.”

Schweinorg laced his fingers together. “These people I’m hiring you to kill, they’re after something. A treasure I currently hold. They’ve made it quite clear how desperately they’re after it, so I want to stop them. Does that put your mind at ease, Mister Gus?”

“Hard to work with a guy who's trying to keep us in the dark so much. Sure, we’ll work security. If you can give us a good price.”

“One hundred million yen, up front.”

Gus paused. “A hundred million?”

“Each. And when the job is done… well, whatever you want.”

“Hell, you sure know how to put a guy on the spot.” Gus grumbled something before taking a long drink. “You’ve got the money on you?”

“Oh no, I’m nowhere near that brave. Or that foolish.” Schweinorg allowed himself a small smile as he rose up from his seat. “There’s a briefcase under your table. You’ll find all the relevant information you need, as well as your payments.”

And with that, Schweinorg walked out of the restaurant. Gus shook his head and looked over his shoulder. True to his word, Schweinorg never looked back. “This is why I hate working with you Brits,” he muttered to himself. “You all think you’re some kind of wizards.”

He fished around under the table till his fingers slid along something rough and pliable. A leather briefcase. “Son of a bitch.”

Gus took hold of the briefcases handle. He left behind the money for his drink on the table and made for the back door. He shoved through in a hurry, entering the alley that laid behind it. Scanning both ends of the alley, he sighed and fished around his jacket pocket. After a moment, he pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

“How did it go?”

‘Gus’ looked down at the black cat currently occupying the alleyway. “Like I told you, the guy’s a nut. Twelve goddamn hits, and he wants to drop it on us now?”

The cat looked back at him. “And who’s he working for?” He asked as he hopped down from the dumpster.

“Hell if I know.”

“Huang…”

“Look, guy says he’s English, talks like he’s English, dresses like he’s English. He could be with any of those lot. MI6, Scotland Yard, The Kingsmen, I don’t deal with that side of the world often. But he knows us.” Hao set the briefcase down and lit up his cigarette. “Called us out on name, knows about our buddy. Whoever he’s in with, they’re high up the pecking order.”

Mao circled around the briefcase cautiously. “And this is the payment?”

“That’s what he said. Paid us just to hear him out, and set us up with the kill list. I got a bad feeling about the guy, he’s no contractor. Be easier to deal with if he was.”

“Does Hei know?”

Huang shook his head and picked up the suitcase, his cigarette burning between his lips. “He’s going to. And you’re coming with me. Make sure this whole thing’s on the up and up. You can still do that, can’t you?”

Mao turned his attention towards a small puddle in the middle of the alley. “That goes for you too. In person this time.” He turned and quickly caught up with Huang, walking at his side.

“Where’s he now?” Huang asked quietly as he checked the street for anyone worth worrying about.

“It’s almost sundown,” Mao replied, turning the corner and beginning to make his way deeper into the city. “You know where he’ll be.”

* * *

Huang pushed through the door to the roof. Just like Mao said, on nights like this, there was only one place to find him. Stood at the edge of the roof, leaning against the railing, looking down on the city. Contractor BK-201. The Black Reaper, Hei.

But for Huang, he was just another business associate. “We’re here. Try not to get too excited.”

Hei looked back at him. His eyes drifted down to the briefcase. “I guess you’re taking the job then?” He held his hand out.

Huang threw the briefcase his way. “Looks as good of a hook as ever. That case there’s got a lot of money in it, so don’t go dropping it.”

“money?”

Huang nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to see the white haired girl standing silently off in her own corner of the roof. She looked back at him with her own usual lifeless expression. “what did you say to get that kind of money already?”

“I didn’t get him to do anything. Guy had it all on him when he showed up. Must really want a grade-a killing machine.” He tossed his cigarette off the edge of the roof. “And you need to quit skulking around like that. Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“check your surroundings next time. you’re losing your touch,” Yin replied without a hint of sarcasm. Same old doll...

“What’s the headcount?” Hei called Huang’s attention back.

“Six or twelve, he said. So, knowing you, twelve,” Huang replied with a smirk. “We get paid per kill, so for once I’m not too worried about setting you loose on ‘em.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hei replied before taking a seat and pulling the briefcase to his chest.

He cracked open the briefcase and peered inside. Like Huang said, it was stuffed with rows of yen. But in the middle of it all was what he really needed. Manilla folders, each tabbed with the information on their job. Hei took the folders, but still stared down at its’ contents.

He fished out a plastic medical bag filled with blood. “Is this part of the payment?”

Huang nearly choked on his cigarette. “The hell’s that about?”

“‘Complementary. For use with the included ritual’,” Hei read off the side of the bag. “A blood ritual… I guess it was too much to hope you could find us a normal job for good people.”

Hei held his arm out towards Yin. She stepped in closer and took the bag into her hands. “this is the kind of thing only your people give us.”

“Hey,” Huang lit up another cigarette. “I told you already. Guy’s not my people. No one I could ring has any clue who Schweinorg is or who he works for. He’s damn near a ghost.”

Mao cleared his throat as he finally joined the rest of the crew. “That’s not possible. He has to know something. No way a guy with no connections would know to come after Yin.”

“how he got his information isn’t important,” Yin said before setting the blood bag down. “if he wanted us dead, we would be. this is about work.”

Hei sealed up the briefcase once more, and slid it across the floor to Huang. “She’s right. If we go looking into how, that’s what’s going to get us killed. This goes above Huang’s contacts, or at least outside their pull. So we’re dealing with someone extremely powerful, or someone new and desperate. Either way, it’s not good to go deeper than a working relationship.”

“And you’re not just saying that for the money, right?” Huang chuckled lowly. “No, of course not, what’s a guy like you need money for? You’d do this one for the fun of killing.”

Hei ignored him. Instead, he eyed up the folders. “You said six to twelve targets, right?”

“That’s what he told me,” Huang replied with a nod.

“Where’s the rest?” Hei fanned out the folders. Only five. He pulled the center file from the stack. “This one isn’teven for a target. It’s just more about this... blood ritual.”

Yin took that folder from Hei and sat down against the railing. “you can worry about that later.”

Hei nodded. “Right, one thing at a time. Huang, what’s the reason we’re getting into this? Don’t just say it’s the money.”

“He said it was about security.” Huang replied from the other side of the roof. “He’s got something, they want something, So he’s sending you into a war zone to keep it away from ‘em.”

“Sending me into a war zone, or sending me into war?” Hei was now flipping through the first of the files.

“Doesn’t matter. Guy seemed pretty convinced you’d take this one. Who’s the target?”

Yin leaned to the side, looking over Hei’s shoulder. “junko enoshima, japanese female age seventeen. highschool student, model. notable qualities include charisma and analytic skills. threat level high.”

Hei’s eyes narrowed as he confirmed Yin’s reading. “Threat level high? What’s she got to give her that kind of classification?” He shook his head and turned to the next file.

“Well, let’s hear it, doll.”

“shota aizawa,” she read off. “high school educator. japanese male age thirty. notable qualities include combat skill and ability to deactivate special abilities. threat level high.”

Hei leaned back against the railing and looked up to the sky. “These are all going to be high level threats, aren’t they?” He scratched the back of his head. “Guess that’s why he was so adament about getting me in on this.”

“You have a reputation for these kinds of things,” Mao replied. “Everyone wants to have the best on payroll. And, well, you are the best.”

Huang chuckled. “You make it sound like this is some kind of serial killer tryout.”

“Maybe it is,” said Hei as he pulled himself back into the files. “Alright, next target. Masayoshi Shido. Japanese Minister of State. Age 53. Notable qualities are population influence and manipulation. Threat level…” He sighed. “High.”

“He’s what?” Mao turned towards Hei. “There’s no Masayoshi Shido in our current ministry.”

“You think it’s a fake?”

“unlikely,” Yin responded. “that information is highly accessible and able to be cross referenced. making such a mistake as part of this assignment would benefit no one."

Hei looked at her quizzically. "What are you suggesting?"

"our benefactor may not be from japan. at the least, not the japan we're familiar with."

"Put a lid on it," Huang said. "This job's hell enough as is, I don't need another time traveler getting mixed in to my life. Keep it to yourself."

Yin raised to folder of information on the 'blood ritual'. "it says this is a way to call warriors who do not exist in our reality. this is not just something to ignore."

"Give me that." Hei snatched the folder from her and quickly skimmed through it. "Whoever this man is, he has to be pulling some kind of stunt. Everything about this is to be-"

He stopped. He stared intently at the last line of the page.

To one Mr. Black Reaper, Hei: Do this for Bai.

A quick spark ignited the paper. Both Mao and Huang shouted out in surprise. But in a moment, the sheet was reduced to ashes and scattered to the wind.

Hei tugged his collar up. "Yin, start drawing up the ritual circle."

She nodded. Huang looked between her and him. "You're serious? After all this shit, never thought I'd see a monster like you get spooked of some no namer."

Hei stayed silent and shook the briefcase. There was an unmistakable rattling. Just like the note had promised. He pulled the knife from his sleeve and slashed it across the base of the briefcase. A massive wood handled axe clattered to the ground.

“What the hell!?” Huang backed away from the weapon now sitting between them. “No way did that thing come out of that briefcase. Some kind of magic trick? What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

Mao circled around the axe, sniffing and pawing at it inquisitively. “Is his part of the job? What are we supposed to do with this?”

“proof of contract,” Yin replied. She was well at work replicating the diagram included among the folders. “it's an artifact. the papers say its required to accept the job.”

“Keep trusting everything you read, and you’re going to yourselves killed,” Huang grumbled.

Hei was watching Yin paint a circle in blood. “Huang. All this money, that was a hook. What’s the reward for mission completion?”

Huang lit up another cigarette. “Whatever you want.”

“What was that?”

“That’s what he said,” Huang replied with a shrug. “Finish the job, whatever you want. Didn’t really ask the hows of that particular insanity.”

So that’s what this was about. Hei shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Alright. Whatever it takes. We’re going to finish this job, and we’re going to cash in on that promise. That man, he knows something, he knows a lot more than he’s telling. And once we’re done here, we’ll know all of it.”

“What did I say about trusting this lunatic?” Huang shook his head. “Well, not like there’s much backing out. He knows who we are, he knows where we are, and we took all his money.” He took a long drag of his cigarette. “Damned if we do and all that.”

Mao was sniffing around the files Hei had left behind with the briefcase. He flipped the folder open and took a long read. After a minute of staring, he turned to Hei. “This girl…”

Hei didn’t look away from Yin doing her work. “I know.”

Huang raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The Ultimate Soldier,” Mao read from the paper. “Mukuro Ikusaba, seventeen year old Japanese female. Sister of target Junko Enoshima. Left her family to become a mercenary, then came back to her sister. Notable advantages are firearm combat, knife combat, hand-to-hand combat, ordinal combat, assassination… she’s a killing machine.”

“Remind you of anyone?” Huang chuckled lowly.

But Hei dismissed him. “There’s no one like a contractor. And there’s no one like me. Whatever this girls skills are, I can kill her. I will kill her. That’s what he chose me after all.”

He took the handle of the axe as he spoke. Mao, Huang, and Yin all turned to watch him approach Yin’s blood circle.

“And what are you doing with that?” Mao asked. He was walking beside Hei now. But all Hei was thinking of was that note. Of that girl. Of his sister. Who in the world would go through all this, and why? Of what he’d need to do, what he was willing to do, to get through this.

He looked down at the axe before throwing it into the center of the blood circle. “Yin, read me the rest of the instructions. We’re going to make this contract official. Tonight.”


	6. Gathering Storm

Akechi stared at the distinct red markings emblazoned into the back of his hand. He sent a simple text message to Shido. “It is done”. With a proud smile, he pulled on his gloves, picked up his suitcase, and made for the door.

Schweinorg had been standing outside, awaiting the detectives appearance. “The day has finally come then, hasn’t it?”

Akechi spared him a glance as he adjusted his tie and walked towards the elevator doors. “I’m not sure what you mean by that, sir. It’s just another day, same as the last. A day that I do my job.”

“Of course, of course. A mere job, that’s all it is.” Schweinorg stood at his side, awaiting the elevator. “Are you prepared for your work today, detective? I understand that today's proceedings are to be quite unexpected.”

“Preparation is my specialty, Mister Schweinorg. I have everything I could ever need to perform at my best.” He gave a practiced smile. “The most important preparation, however, is information. And I’ve no shortage of that.”

“Care to sate an old man’s curiosity?” Schweinorg pressed with a chuckle.

There was a soft ding before the elevator doors slid open. Akechi nodded as he passed into the elevator proper. “I have the time to spare. Of course. What is it you were wondering about?”

Schweinorg stepped into the elevator at his side and motioned towards Akechi’s briefcase. “Everything you need is in there, right? It seems rather small for a ‘job’ of this caliber.”

“Nonsense.” Akechi tapped the ground floor button and watched the doors shut before they began their descent. “My ability to get by on very little is not to be underestimated, Mister Schweinorg. All that’s required for me to get through is a bit of money, a few files, and those artifacts I was entrusted with.”

“Such is the way of the modern world, I suppose,” Schweinorg said with a solemn nod. “On the subject of those files, have you gone over all the pertinent information.”

Akechi brushed his hair out of his face. “Naturally. Thank you for those. Someone like me needs all the help I can get when going to war.”

Schweinorg chuckled. “Yes, someone of your standing surely knows nothing of the horror of combat or the weight of taking a life.”

“You sound as if you know something.”

“No, detective, I know everything. Or at least, everything that involves me. Including your true calling in this world.”

Akechi nodded. “I assumed as such. Once I realized the identity of my servant, it all came together.”

“So you figured that out?” Schweinorg gave another low chuckle. “Even if only for show, a detective is still a detective. Do take care, Akechi. Handling a heroic spirit is a far cry from your usual means of doing things.”

“I expected no less.” Akechi adjusted his tie as the elevator slowed. They’d reached their stop. “But I have something of a way with people. This will be no different.”

“Then I wish you all the best of luck, Goro Akechi. Do make your pact soon, things will begin in due time.”

When the elevator doors slid open to the hotel lobby, Akechi stood alone in the elevator. He rolled his shoulders and let out a long breath. “Tonight… I’ll have it done by tonight.”

He put on his most personable face and, with a strong grip on his briefcase, made for the door. It was going to be an eventful day…

* * *

At the bus stop outside of U.A.’s gates stood one Hitoshi Shinsou. He was trying to keep cool, just turning his head from side to side. Just another student heading into town. But under the surface, he was all nerves. After all his reading the day before, his command seals had come in, just like those books had said they would. Underneath the makeshift bandaging around his hand were the crimson marks that he’d signed up for war.

He had a long time to think about what he’d done. Only minutes after the crests had appeared, he called off his classes for the day to come. He’d spent far too long sitting on his bed staring at them. Wondering if everything he’d read could really be true. If it was worth the risks. He had spent several hours just staring at the ceiling, hoping he hadn’t just thrown his life away for nothing.

But that wasn’t a hero’s attitude. The past was in the past. He’d signed on for this, he would see it through to the end. He had a suitcase full of civilian clothes, and all the money he could get together. And beneath all of that, the wooden box and everything that came with it. The catalyst that would thrust him past the point of no return.

Shinsou took a deep breath and held his head high. The bus was nearly there now. He didn’t need to get anywhere in particular, just where no one would find him. Explaining away what he was doing, whether it worked or not, was not high on his list of priorities. If he was going to war, he’d do it alone. And if he looked like an idiot drawing in the dirt, he’d do that alone too.

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it?”

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Shinsou looked over his shoulder to the source of the voice. An elderly man, sitting on the bench. He checked his watch before looking up at Shinsou expectantly.

Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I guess it is pretty nice.”

“You seem nervous.” The old man’s eyes wavered down to Shinsou’s bandaged up hand. “Something happen? You’re with U.A., right? I do hope they’re not being too hard on you kids up there.”

“U.A… it’s fine.” Shinsou paused and shook his head. “No, what am I saying, it’s good. It’s really good. I’ve met a lot of good people. I am grateful for what they’ve done.”

“Then why leave? It doesn’t sound particularly pressing.”

Shinsou thought on it. What did it matter what it told this guy? At least someone would know what happened if it came to the worst… “I’m going to prove myself. To prove that someone like me can be a hero. That I can do it on my own.”

“A tired eyed hero,” he said with a sage nod. “I can’t say we don’t need more of that. Where I come from, the world has a way of beating the hero out of kids your age. So, have hope. The path of a hero… it’s a rough one. I can only wish you the best.”

What could Shinsou really say to that? Here he was, about to wade headlong into either a trap for a hero much more experienced than himself, or a war designed for someone he couldn’t be. The weight of all of that had been crashing down on him since he’d woken up. But now, with just a few words from a stranger… he felt empowered. He felt ready. He wasn’t sure what he was ready for, but he was ready.

And all of that expressed with a simple, “Thanks.” And then, with a bit more purpose, “Hey, mister?”

“What is it, young man?”

The old man raised his head, and with his response, fell right into Shinsou’s trap. He let out a relieved sigh. “Forget you ever saw me. Wipe me out of your memory. It was just a quiet day at the bus stop for you.”

For a moment, there was silence. The man just stared at Shinsou, and blinked. And then he laughed. “A marvelous power. A superb trapping. Truly, Shinsou, you will do well in your coming trial. But know your limits.”

Shinsou took a step back. His quirk was a little awkward sometimes, sure, but for it to just fizzle out like that? To have no effect? Shinsou looked back at the old man. “What the… you have a nullification type quirk?”

He shook his head as he slowly rose to his feet. “No, no, nothing of the sort. You could just say my brain is wired differently.” He reached into his robe, and when he pulled his hand back, presented a black bag towards him. “It’s blood. You’ll need it for the summoning ritual.”

Shinsou’s eyes flicked between the man’s face and the bag he presented. “Summoning… so, I guess that makes you Schweinorg?”

“One in the same.” Schweinorg hefted the bag slightly. “Take it now, or you’ll miss your bus.”

He snatched the bag from him and quickly stashed it into his luggage. “Look, I don’t know-”

But Schweinorg was gone. Shinsou quickly looked about, but found no trace of the old man. Before he could go after him, the bus pulled to a stop behind him. The telltale sound of the slide door opening pulled Shinsou from his trance. He still had somewhere to be.

He sighed, shook his head, and turned to board the bus. At the very least, he now had some idea of just what kind of mess he was getting into. And yet, he would soldier on. It’s what Aizawa had told him. It’s what heroes do.

* * *

“Ugh, hurry up. It’s a frickin’ circle, it’s not that hard.”

Mukuro quickly slashed her knife across a chicken’s throat and let it bleed out into the dirt. “There’s just not a lot of blood in these things, Junko.”

“Maybe it’s just that flat chested losers like you are bad at handling cocks.” Junko was lounging out in a lawn chair, admiring her own command seals. “Damn, mine really do look, like, all the way cooler than yours.”

“They do,” Mukuro agreed as she continued her bloodletting duties. Occasionally she’d spare a second to study the diagram Schweinorg had provided them. When the chicken in her hands ran dry, she threw it on the pile. Only halfway done, and already a half dozen dead roosters were stacked up in their backyard. “Are you sure this isn’t something Assassin should do, sister? So I can admire them with you?”

Junko tilted her sunglasses down and stared dead eyed at Mukuro. She snapped her fingers. “Hey! Assassin! Get down here!”

Assassin leapt down from his perch atop the house. The slight rustle of his robes as he hit the ground was the only sound denoting his arrival. He wore that same blank expression as when Junko had met him. Mukuro paused from her preparation to watch her servant. Just that thought alone, that someone like him could be her servant, felt at the same time perversely wrong and unbelievably exciting.

But Junko didn’t get that same feeling. She spoke to Assassin with all the same respect she gave to anyone she saw as beneath her. “So, tell me. Assassin, heroic spirit of deception, shinobi without equal, blah blah blah, all that extra stuff. Whose a better lookout, you and your super duper eyeballs, or my dumbass sister and her boring normal human eyes?”

“I am,” Assassin entered straightaway. “While my master is surprisingly competent, her ability pales in comparison to mine.”

“Heh, Master…” Mukuro repeated dreamily.

Junko clapped her hands. “Get over your dom/sub thing and get back to slicing chickens. Assassin, get back on the roof and do your job.”

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Enoshima Junko. Do not forget your role. You are not my master, and I do not answer to you.”

“Yeah, well, you answer to her, dontcha?” Junko jerked her thumb towards Mukuro, again hard at work replicating the illustration. “And she answers exclusively to me. So you’re, like, four rungs below me on this little corporate ladder we have going on. So how’s about you shut it and just do what I say?”

In the next instant, two things happened. Assassin pulled a knife from his sleeve and pointed it towards Junko. And Mukuro, acting purely on her own instincts, put herself between the blade and her sister. She had her own weapons drawn. Junko could only grin widely as she took in the sight.

“So you’ve got two options, Assassin.” Junko’s voice took on a new, low and intense tone. “Either you can go along with what I tell you and get your wish in the end. Or keep opposing me and I have Mukuro make you kill yourself. Am I understood?”

Assassin’s face betrayed no emotion. But his weapon vanished as quickly as it had appeared. He stood up straight and looked between the two girls. “So long as my desires are attained, the means are irrelevant. If this is how it shall be done, so be it.”

Mukuro stashed away her guns and nodded. “Junko’s going to make sure we win, Assassin. She’s the best at this sort of thing. Just go along with her plan, okay?”

He gave a small nod to his master before leaping back to the rooftop. As soon as he was out of sight, Junko put her heel to Mukuro’s behind and kicked her back towards her task. “God, leave it to you to have the only mouthy Assassin in history. And what’s up with all those studs in his face. You got a punk kink the grail’s tryna fill?”

Mukuro couldn’t keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks as Junko shoved her away. The kind of sisterly love only she could appreciate. Stll, she shook her head as she grabbed the next chicken and again let the blood flow. “No, nothing like that. I think our connection is more than skin deep.”

“What, like you got more going on than an ugly face and boring bod? Earth to dumbass, that’s a big no.” Junko held up the collar Schweinorg had given to her as her catalyst and looked it over. “What kinda servant is that thing gonna spit out at me?”

“Probably a wonderful, powerful servant worthy of serving you,” Mukuro replied. Her response was only met with Junko throwing a rock at her. Naturally, Mukuro swatted it aside without even sparing it a glance.

“It wasn’t a question for you, skank. Get back to finger painting and let me do the narration!”

“Okay~”

Junko continued to look over the innocuous black choker. And as she did, she couldn’t keep herself from slowly developing a wide grin. “We’re really going to war... “

* * *

Hei had been watching Yin recreate the ‘contract’ circle for nearly an hour. The blood bag had nearly run dry, but the intricate illustration was nearing completion. He shut his eyes and crossed his arms. He just needed time to think.

Mao was walking along the railing beside him. “You’re really sure about this, Hei? Going into war’s a lot different then the usual job. There’s going to be enemies on every side, and your targets are all extremely dangerous this time.”

“I know I can do it,” Hei said without a second’s hesitation. “Anyone desperate enough to get involved in this, they’re the kind of people- the kind of targets I can handle.”

“Right, we’re not killing contractors this time. Hei, those are real people we’re going after. You’re okay with that too?”

“Of course he is,” Huang laughed. “What’s it matter to a gun who you point it at? It’ll be a walk in the park for someone like you.”

Hei glanced towards him. “It won’t just be me on this job. You’re coming with me. You’re all coming with me.”

Yin gave a slight nod while Huang grumbled “Figured you’d drag me into this mess.”

“Do we have any leads on where in the world this job is going to take us?”

“Active war zones aren’t hard to find these days.” Huang flicked the butt of his cigarette off the rooftop. “Right now there’s major conflicts in South Africa, Iran, Belize, and, hell, most of Asia.”

“given the names of our targets, it’s likely asia will be our destination.”

“The doll’s right on that front. Schweinorg’s little information books say once the contract is complete, we’ll know where to go. Whatever the hell he meant by that.”

Mao turned to Hei. ”What’s the plan for eliminating the unknown targets?”

“Just look for the most dangerous people alive and take them out, one by one, till we get the all clear.”

Huang gave a lot, gravelly laugh. “That’s the kind of plan I’d expect someone like you to come up with. All about the efficiency, no eye for subtlety.”

“whatever works,” Yin replied. She took a few steps away from the bloody seal now drawn into the rooftop. The heavy axe still sat innocuously at its center. Not a drop of blood out of place. “it is done.”

Mao leaped down from the railing and flipped through one of the files still left out. “Okay, with that bit out of the way… Hei, I take it you’re the one sealing this contract?”

He nodded and walked towards the edge of the circle. “If anyone’s paying a blood price for this, it has to be me.”

“How noble,” Huang muttered. He lit up another cigarette and stared at Yin’s blood circle. “Of everything I’ve seen in this work, gotta say, nothing’s as suspicious or sinister as this blood cult contract shit. And that includes you.”

“I’m flattered to hear that.” Hei rolled up his sleeve and removed his glove. Just like the file had said, there was now a bright red tattoo burned into his skin. He took a deep breath, and held his hand out towards the circle. “Mao, read me the contract. Let’s seal this deal.”

* * *

_“I call out to thee, through the gates of Heaven or Hell,_  
_ A contract through time, a foundation built of stone and sky._  
_ An oath of blood that I offer you now, a promise of glory,_  
_ You, who has awaited at the edge of dream and reality.”_

_“Let crest the wave of humanity, and let wane the edge of night,_  
_ Let rise a mountain of faith, that I may sit at its peak._  
_ Let us open the mouth of the abyss, and all the horrors from beyond,_  
_ That I may walk into those flames, and bind my life to thee.”_

_“Know the promise of servitude, that we may walk side by side,_  
_ Through salvation or glory, through war and ruin._  
_ I, your tether to this earth, and you the star that guides my path._  
_ By the grace of the grail, heed my words, and lend your aid.”_

_“Let the blood spilled on this night serve as proof of our contract._  
_ That I shall be all that I am, and you shall be all you can be._  
_ Rejoice upon your summon, that you shall be given form anew._  
_ Break free of your shackles, and again stand unrivaled.”_

_“Unbound by time and space, heed my call, and step forth!”_

* * *

The blinding light of the summoning had lasted only a few seconds. Akechi had shielded his eyes as best he could. But when the light faded and he could take in his surroundings again, it was not the sight he’d imagined.

The two guards Shido had sent to ‘watch over’ the summoning were slumped to the floor. Those knives Akechi had used for the ritual both impaled through their throats. And stood before him in the center of that blood circle was someone new. A tall, pale, dark haired man in ornate leather armour. He pointed his golden spear at Akechi.

“You there.” He tapped the point of the spear to the bottom of Akechi’s jaw. “You are the one who called me to this place?”

To his credit, Akechi hadn’t flinched once. He put a finger atop the spear and lowered it from his throat. “That would be me, yes. I am your… partner.”

Akechi’s servant gave a wry grin. “Then rejoice, Goro Akechi, for your saviour is here.”

* * *

Shinsou fell back into the grass as the light of the summoning overwhelmed him. He furiously rubbed his eyes, trying to get is vision back. And when it did, his servant stood in front of him, his arm outstretched towards Shinshou.

“Hey there, friend. Not making any headway lying back, are ya?”

Shinsou looked up at his servant. He couldn’t be any taller than Shinsou was. Probably not any older either. A young man with blue hair and a blue jacket, now wearing that red face mask Shinsou had been given as a catalyst. Shinsou held his hand out as well and found himself yanked to his feet.

“Hell yeah, now we’re getting somewhere!” Shinsou’s servant clapped a hand to his back. “What’s your name, huh?”

“Shinsou… My name is Hitoshi Shinsou.” He raised his arm and revealed his command seals. “And from this point on, I will be your master.”

Shinsou’s servant laughed immediately, again clapping him on the back. “Too funny, Shinsou, too funny. There’s no ‘master’s in war, only friend or foe.” He pointed straight to the sky. “And as long as you’ll be my friend, I’ll blast a hole in this war like no one’s ever seen before!”

Shinsou put his face in his hands. Just what was he getting into?

* * *

Both Junko and Mukuro studied the young man now stood in the center of the summoning circle. And in turn, he stared boredly at them. A pale teen with white hair, in white clothes, currently leaning on a crutch. With a sigh, he bent down and picked up the collar Junko’d called him with, and latched it around his neck.

“You just gonna stare at me, or you want to say something?”

Junko leaned side to side, peering around the boys shoulders. “So, like, this is a joke right? You’re just the bait for my real servant, a giant angler fish or something? Cuz Schweinorg didn’t say anything about the grail spitting out gimpy cripples.”

“I don’t think you should make him angry, Junko,” Mukuro advised. She had enough experience on the battlefield to get a read on people. And the killing intent coming of Junko’s servant was one that she’d only felt once before. From her sister herself.

Junko rolled her eyes. “What’s he gonna do, shake his cane at me? Whatever, let’s get it over with. Hey, gimpy, I’m your master, get it? As in, like, I own you? So howsabout showing off why I shouldn’t have my sister’s Assassin waste you?”

The white haired servant quickly devolved a twisted grin. The small light on his choker went from a dull red to a bright green. Immediately, Junko could feel a change in the air around her. “Alright then. How about I show you the difference in our class!?”

* * *

Hei and his servant locked eyes for a considerable time. Hei couldn’t really say he’d ever seen anyone like him. He was a good bit taller than Hei, and a lot more muscular. His skin was ashen grey, broken up by the red tattoos across his face and his chest. He had a stern, solemn expression, taking slow deep breaths as he stared at Hei.

He held his arm out, and the axe they’d prepared for the summoning flew through the air into his waiting fingers.

Mao and Huang were watching the encounter from as far as they could be. Even Yin had taken a step back once she’d laid eyes on the imposing figure. It was only Hei who stood at the edge of the circle, unwavering.

The two continued to stare one another down before the man put his axe through the holster on his back. Hei took note of the bloody bandages wrapped around his fists before his servant gave a loud, low exhale.

“I am Saber.” His voice was every bit as gruff as Hei’d expected. “Which of you performed the rite?”

Hei nodded. “I did. My name is Li. And I’m the one who contracted you into fighting for us.”

Saber crossed his arms and shut his eyes. “A battle… very well then. Know this, Li, and all of you watching: My name is Kratos.”


End file.
